Chapter 9 - The Prosecutor’s Gambit
I stepped back into the shadows of the boathouse doorway, my fingers tightening around the handle of the Pelican case.
Julian didn't draw a weapon. He simply slid his hands into his trouser pockets and strolled leisurely down the wooden dock, his footsteps echoing hollowly over the black water of the lake.
"You're Julian Vance," I said, my voice carrying across the narrow gap between us. "The federal prosecutor who engineered my father’s ruin and my wrongful conviction."
Julian offered a thin, unapologetic smile. "Engineering is such an ugly word, Finnley. Let’s call it... judicial alignment. Your father was a stubborn dinosaur. He wanted to run a regional freight company like a family grocery store, ignoring the massive geopolitical capital sitting right beneath our feet in the Baltimore port terminals."
"He was my father," I growled, taking a step forward onto the dock. "You and Reagan murdered him."
"We didn't touch him," Julian corrected smoothly, though his eyes flashed with a cold, dangerous light. "The heavy metals in his blood? That was a slow-acting hepatic toxin administered by someone he trusted implicitly. Someone who needed him out of the way before the federal transport contracts were re-awarded next quarter."
"Reagan," I said.
"Reagan is my sister," Julian admitted casually, as if discussing a weekend golf game. "Her real name is Margaret Vance. We planted her in your father’s life ten years ago, right after your mother died. Oh, and speaking of your mother—you really shouldn't go digging into that police report from six years ago. Some accidents are designed never to be solved."
The blood rushed in my ears. The pieces of the puzzle slammed together with sickening clarity. My mother’s brake lines hadn't failed by chance. She had discovered Margaret and Julian’s corporate espionage scheme, and they had eliminated her before she could talk.
"You killed my mother, too," I whispered, the rage inside me igniting into a white-hot flame.
Julian’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. "She was asking the wrong questions, Finnley. Just like you are right now. Now, be a reasonable young man. Hand over the Pelican case, give me the black ledger and the audio tapes, and I'll make sure the U.S. Attorney’s office quietly drops your parole violation. You can walk away and start a new life anywhere you want."
I looked down at the Pelican case in my hand, then back up at Julian.
"And if I say no?" I asked.
Julian let out a low, humorless chuckle. He raised his left hand and clicked a small remote fob attached to his car keys.
May you like
Across the lake, near the main estate house, a series of bright amber security lights suddenly clicked on—followed by the chilling, unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire echoing through the trees.
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